This Fate
by Dreamicide
Summary: A boy makes a startling discovery upon reading a well-known tale. — Fakir


**notes:** i figured fakir didn't know about the knight's fate when he first found mytho. which was why he was more excited rather than "oh noez i'm gonna die cause charon's legend is coming true! D:"  
><strong>pre-series.<br>i own nothing.**

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><p><strong>This Fate<strong>

He always knew that there was an unfinished story about a prince and a raven, but Fakir never bothered reading it. The plot was well-known, and unless it was going to turn out to be required reading for classes in the future, the boy had no plans on becoming familiar with the literature.

At least, that was before he wrote himself a story about ravens. The kind that came to his doorstep to die.

Only after his adoptive father made a passing comment about his birthmark. Claiming that it was a sign of his bravery and chivalrous personality—destiny. The one that made him the kind of person suitable to protect a prince like the one in the story. Only after that, did the boy first skim across the pages.

And even then, Fakir only read the first several acts of the story. Just the buildup. It wasn't like the boring and difficult-to-read literature that he always imagined it to be—it entranced him. The prince was the epitome of the ideal hero. And had a knight that he trusted with his life, and they were great comrades. Fakir never had someone like that. …Actually, it was a little hard remembering things that happened before he came to live with Charon. But that didn't matter.

And on long nights when sleep couldn't find him, Fakir would sit up in bed to pull off his shirt. Just to look in the mirror and puff his scrawny little chest out. It wasn't quite like the image of a fierce and honorable knight that he formed in his head, but he still wanted to be able to deserve the mark of a protector like that. He wanted to strive to be just like the knight in the story. Just like him. Wear the mark proudly.

Even after he found Mytho, Fakir hadn't found the time to read _Prinz un Rabe_. It was too exciting—too thrilling, to imagine that Charon's legend was coming true and the story itself would come to life. He would rather spend time with the genuine article than read the _story_. At the very least, Fakir remembered small snippets of great epic battles between the two main characters that happened over several years. Would he get the chance to see something like that if he stuck with Mytho? Would he form a trusting bond with Mytho just like the knight and the prince? The boy liked to believe that.

Despite the fact that he'd rather try to watch the heartless boy fighting with his magnificent sword, Fakir instead found himself constantly stopping his friend from going through extensive lengths to save small animals. It was a bother, but when he discovered that Mytho took a small interest in the old book by his bedside, Fakir settled for reading to him for distraction instead. It was less bothersome than always keeping him on the lookout, at the very least.

And it was only then when he finally read the story in its entirety.

About a week after he began reading aloud the text to his friend, they were nearing the end. Or rather, the last bit of the story that was still unfinished. Princess Tutu had confessed her love and disappeared already, though Fakir didn't understand the need for those few sentences. It seemed to make little difference in the overall impact, but no matter.

He turned the page, and as his voice filled the room, his little heart began to beat faster, responding to the tense atmosphere from inside the story. The knight was about to confront the Raven alongside his trusted friend—the prince—_Mytho_. And they had reflected to themselves to fight to the end, no matter how much blood is shed. The Raven appeared after a few paragraphs, large and frightening and ready for battle. The knight held up his sword, vowing that the creature will fall by sunset…

Fakir turned the page once more. And froze.

…

He stared at the picture that greeted him for several long moments. His eyes blinked while his lips parted, fingers pinched against the corner of the page.

It was the knight. Surely it was. Who else could it be? Who else would wear armor like that? And there were claws next to his body. …His mortally wounded body.

And it was like ice cold water suddenly poured through his veins. Frantically, without bothering to read aloud, Fakir began reading ahead through the page accompanying the illustration, eyes darting back and forth rapidly. The knight lifted his blade. But before he could land even one single strike down on the Raven, he was…

Slowly, the boy lifted his eyes up to look over at his companion, who didn't seem to notice his sudden shift in mood. Fakir swallowed, and licked his lips.

"Mytho, the…the knight dies…?"

The storybook prince only looked at him, as if he didn't understand what he was asking.

Fakir tried again.

"The knight…your trusted friend. Don't you remember anything? Do you remember him dying?"

"I don't know." The words were simple and straight-to-the-point. No emotion hid behind them.

And the boy's eyes wavered, staring at the prince. He really came out of the story, didn't he? He had the sword and everything. But surely he could at least remember something from his life within the tale? But he hadn't shown any indication of that throughout the entire week Fakir read to him.

His very presence indicated that the legend Charon spoke of was true. That the story itself was coming to life. The tales of Mytho's confrontations with the Raven, him speaking with his kingdom, Princess Tutu confessing her love…

And…

"I'm going to die?"

It almost sounded like those words didn't come out of his mouth at all. But at the same time, if the story was moving forward—if they were going to be seeing the Raven…

Fakir didn't look back at the book in his lap. He knew what gruesome picture would be greeting him. That horrid image, armor split right down the middle while looking just like—

And suddenly, that birthmark upon his chest felt heavy against his heart. Fakir froze, now feeling like he could sense every inch of the off-colored skin that encompassed his torso.

…Charon only mentioned that it was a sign of bravery and his rebirth. Nothing about the fact that it was…_evidence_. Something that truly and horrifically _lingered. _

The entire time Fakir was slowly coming upon realization, Mytho only sat in his seat next to the bed. Unable to express confusion for why the boy stopped reading, or to ask for more.

Fakir didn't care anymore to read, anyway. It felt like he had been excited about the legend for _years_. Just waiting for him to become an honorable knight that protected the prince with his life. Wasn't it exciting? Wasn't it thrilling? The mere thought that he would be willing to put his very existence on the line for his friend?

Yes, the thought was heart-racing. But…it wasn't like…it wasn't like he could actually _do _it! Not when the knight looked like—_that!_

Suddenly overcome with several conflicting emotions at once, Fakir abruptly stood up and flung the book across the room, leaving it to slam against the white walls. Mytho made no visible response.

And the boy stood there, breathing heavily and eyes unable to get rid of that gruesome image dancing before his lids.

…He wanted to protect Mytho. He wanted to protect Mytho and watch amazing battles and the magic of a story come to life. But while he desired to have adventures and swordfights with various enemies, could he really do that while knowing what…

Could he _really_ go through all of that while knowing that the deadened skin upon his chest would ultimately have life breathed into it?

Was this really…his fate…?

**End**


End file.
